


As the Sand Falls

by ShepardCommander



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII-2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShepardCommander/pseuds/ShepardCommander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what anyone did, it seemed that their world was doomed. No matter how many bad guys they fought, or how many fal'Cie they conquered, there was always just one more enemy around the corner. They were always fighting it seemed, always on the run, always defying fate, fighting against destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Sand Falls

Time. It was a difficult concept to understand. It was a dimension. It was a way of ordering things. It was what the clock measured. But mainly, it was a way of keeping track of events amongst the mortals that inhabited the physical realm, for mortals needed structure after all, some way of making sense from the nonsensical.

Mortals were the only ones that craved time, that desperately needed to cling to its seemingly rigid structure. Immortals scoffed at and disdained it, manipulating it to meet their ends as if it were a mere child's play thing; it did not matter to them what happened when or for what purpose. As long as their whims were carried out, they were fine.

Those that were mortal, meaning that they could be killed, but cursed with immortality, meaning that if not murdered or attacked in some vicious way as to which their life was taken from them, absolutely loathed it. They needed something by which to rule their lives, something stronger than the demigods, false gods, and goddesses that plagued them with terrible gifts. They wanted to be gifted with the ability to take away that which tormented them, the very thing that their fully mortal brethren craved: time.

Of course, if mortals—even immortal ones— could completely understand time, could really see it for what it was and how the past could change the future and the future could change the past, they would go stark-raving mad.

There were a select few that tried to understand it, that did their best to explain time's complexities, its intricate ins and outs, but even they fell terribly short in their limited understanding and inability to grasp the concept of eternity, of something never-ending and simply always being.

Some viewed time as part of the fundamental structure of the universe. It was a dimension that did not rely upon events and the sequence in which they occurred. Some viewed it not as a kind of sifter—as something that people and actions flowed through— but rather as something that was a part of fundamental intellect and structure. They believed time was not an event or thing, rendering it incapable of being traveled upon like some road.

But what was time in a timeless society? What was it in a place that had had chaos unleashed upon it, had had the Unseen Realm bleed into its core and corrupt it from the inside out? What was time in a place where there was no future, no past, no present? Where time had ended and there was no life and death, no growth and no entropy? How was it that mortals still lived on, still lived lives when there was nothing there, an endless day followed by no tomorrow? How could their minds cope? How could they remain stuck in stasis, caught in purgatory? They could try to kill themselves but there was no death for them, no afterlife, just a pained and numbing existence.

Such thoughts plagued the subconscious mind of the doomed. The considerations would forever stay there, in the back of the mind, away from being subjected to further attention and contemplation. To think in depth about such things would drive a mortal off the edge and into the dark abyss of insanity, doomed to stay there forever. Once someone got there, there was no going back. Only few had thought such thoughts and they were locked away forever to keep their ideas from spreading to others like some vile diseases until the whole of mankind was nothing but wild beasts, devoid of cognitive thought, their minds turned to mush by the impossibility of their lives. All such individuals were deemed harmful and lunatics, all except for one that was…

The soft scuff of leather boots upon scratched marble was barely noticeable in the dead temple. The walls of the ancient yet ageless place were a drab gray, the view outside not much better than the view inside. The world was still mutating, trying to fuse together two realities that should never have existed in the same space. It was bitter wound in the fabric of reality, a terrible snag that was threatening to undue the entire tapestry. A light grey was sometimes chased away by a slightly darker shade, an occasional blue sky peeking through every now and then. But there were no clouds, no bright beams of golden sunlight, no warmth, no life. Just like the temple.

Nothing stirred within the sanctuary, not a living soul was to be seen other than the one who wore the leather boots, striding purposefully yet slowly inside the desolate building. There was no hurry, no rush. There were things to do, but it did not matter when they were done. Time did not exist after all; there was no aging, no death.

The only remarkable thing that was unscathed by the horrendous battles that had besieged the temple in its long history was a white throne located nearly dead center. It was situated upon a rather remarkable crystal pedestal that pointed towards the heavens from which its rightful owner resided. But its rightful owner, the goddess who brought misery upon all whom she touched, was no longer there. She was gone, perhaps forever.

It was here that the boots were traveling, that their owner so desired to go. It was here that they stopped, that their owner's downcast eyes were lifted up to rest upon the crystalized figure seated upon the chair. At first glance it would appear that the form was a fine sculpture, crafted by the most meticulous carver. The graceful curves of the body, the detailed indents and wisps of the hair…it was a magnificent work of art. Except it was not a work of art.

"Lightning."

It was a simple word, the name of the person that had become an eternal epitaph to keep alive memories of a time long gone. It was the name of a mortal turned champion of the goddess, the name of a woman that had become a divine being in her own right. It was the name that tore his soul apart, that rendered him sleepless at nights.

_Lightning. It flashes bright, then fades away. It can't protect. It only destroys._

There was a snort, an amused chortle. How right that was. But, he was not there to ruminate on how she tormented his soul…or was he? He didn't know anymore what these little visits of his were supposed to accomplish. She never answered, never moved. She just sat there, entombed in her guilt and despair, dreaming endless dreams of days that would never come.

"It's me, Hope. You remember me, don't you?"

Silver hair shimmered as Hope Estheim, the owner of the boots that had traversed the broken marble and concrete floor, brushed his bangs out of his eyes so he could better see the woman. She was the same as she always was, hadn't changed since he had first discovered her here in this wasted temple.

There was no response to his inquiry and he sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. Why did he do this to himself? Nothing was going to change. He wasn't some god that could break her out of her crystal stasis, no matter how powerful and smart he had become. There were just some things he couldn't do and it drove him mad. What good was all this power he had if he could not save just one?

"Bhunivelze, the new Cocoon, has remained afloat by some miracle. It has become a symbol to us all, a symbol of human ingenuity," he said next, not quite sure why he was telling her this. What did she care about such things? The world was no longer her concern, and it really shouldn't have been in the first place. It was an unfair burden for any one person to carry, especially someone as young as her. Speaking of which…how old would she be now? Twenty? Twenty-one? She had been taken from them shortly after they had saved Cocoon and lived in the Unseen Realm, a place not governed by time. She therefore had not aged a day while her companions had all progressed on in years.

"I'm older than you now, you know," Hope commented. "Kind of weird to think about it, isn't it? I was fourteen when we met. Fourteen…" He let out a soft chuckle. "I'm twenty-seven now, twenty-eight next month. Well, physically I am. Chronologically I'll be a little over five hundred. Of course, I'm not sure age matters anymore since all time was destroyed…" He smiled sadly. "I bet you're wondering how I'm still alive, right? Five hundred is well beyond human years. Let's just say…Serah isn't the only one who can time travel." The mischievous spark that had been in his eyes dimmed as the image of Serah's cold, dead body flitted through his mind. He had said  _isn't_ instead of  _wasn't_. He was still referring to her in the present tense, despite the fact that she was gone.

He looked down at the ground, biting his lip as a dagger of grief cut through his body. He hadn't known Serah that well, but he had known how much she had meant to Lightning. The ex-soldier had gone through hell to save her and a part of Hope died everyday knowing that he had been unable to prevent her death. He had become good friends with the young hunter as well and seeing how the pink-haired girl's death had impacted him had left Hope feeling emptier than he had thought was possible. So much sadness, so much pain.

And for what?

No matter what anyone did, it seemed that their world was doomed. No matter how many bad guys they fought, or how many fal'Cie they conquered, there was always just one more enemy around the corner. They were always fighting it seemed, always on the run, always defying fate, fighting against destiny. People were always lost, there was always death. No matter how many were saved, just as many died. There was just no winning, no matter how much was given up, no matter how much was sacrificed, no matter how many people were left behind…

"You know Light," he said after a little while, focusing his eyes back on her. "I think I can understand a little of what you must have gone through. Sacrificing your happiness for the sake of the world…my dad…he…" Hope's voice cracked and he nearly choked on the sorrow clogging his throat. "…I had to leave him behind. He couldn't come with me."

His voice was heavy with guilt and sadness, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily upon him. He was an adult, a full grown man. He had never thought in his younger days that he would become this person of great importance, this great mind that held the key to saving mankind. Or, at least it once had.

Now he felt like his supposedly great mind had doomed them all, for who in their right mind would want to be preserved only to be cursed to live in an ageless society where nothing grew? Where nothing changed? Where the air was stale and the haunting reminder of what it was like to be undying everywhere? It was a half-life, a purposeless existence. And he had thrust it upon them. They would have been better off crushed by Cocoon, choking to death on the sand and crystal storm whipped up by its demise. It would have been merciful and swift, unlike what they suffered now.

His sea-green eyes traced along Lightning's body, the flawless crystal mocking him with its perfection.

She was just like everything else around him, unchanging, ageless, and warped. She was not where she should be, she was not living (though neither was anyone else really with the half-life they all lived), she was not laughing or crying or smiling or yelling or doing anything she should be doing.

The world was not as it should be, everything was doomed.

And it was all his fault.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes stinging with tears that refused to be shed as emotion overwhelmed him. Noel blamed himself for the state of the world, but Hope knew that the young man was not the real devil behind the madness. In truth, no one was to blame but Etro, but who were they to blame the dead? Spitting on her name and burning her in effigy wouldn't bring back all who were lost, wouldn't change the fate of the world.

Hope's hands balled into fists at his side, his teeth grinding together as he narrowed his eyes to keep the salty drops in.

"I'm lost," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've tried everything. Looked at ancient texts, deciphered cryptic glyphs…" He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes tiredly before looking back at her. "What do I do? Tell me what to do… _please._ "

He knew that he must look stupid, standing there and begging for help from someone stuck in crystal ice. How foolish must he be; how desperate?

He had relied on her in his youth, looked up to her as a cherished mentor. He had wanted to live up to her expectations of him, to become something she could be proud of. She had called them partners after all, had smiled warmly at him as he had taken the lead on some occasions and on others watched her back.

She had become his idol, his hero, his own personal goddess. She had given him something no one else had in those dark days, had reminded him of what it meant to be human even when he was anything but.

Overtime, her memory had become something more to him, something beyond the simple fondness he had once felt. Even though she had been gone from his life, he could still feel her presence every time he faced an opponent, every time he inspired others around him to persevere in the direst of circumstances. The lessons she had taught him, the wisdom she had passed on…She lived on in him, even when she was doing everything except.

His desire to see her again, to see her smiling, had increased and he had desperately searched for answers, for clues as to where she was. Was she really trapped in the crystal pillar with Fang and Vanille as he remembered? Or was Serah correct in thinking she was elsewhere, torn and erased from history itself? Of course now he knew it was the latter but that didn't help him one bit. She was still gone, dead to the world, still encased in quartz.

Nothing had changed and nothing ever would.

Hope's brow crinkled in sadness as the still figure that was Lightning did not respond, just like always. He never expected any different but was always disappointed just the same.

Sighing, he bowed slightly, bidding her farewell before he turned around and descended the steps from which he had come, his mind coming back around to the question that had plagued it on his journey there.

What was time?

Time was what kept everything from happening at once.

That's what it was to him.


End file.
